Bring It
by Twist
Summary: Snakes on a Plane crosses over with homiehood!Discworld. Just so you know? This is not intended to be serious. Havelock Vetinari retires and deals with murderers, all with a song from the SoaP album in the background. Have fun, children. M for bad words.


Bring It

Disclaimer: Twist is not affiliated with Terry and Lynn Pratchett. She does not claim ownership of the following characters, places or anything else you recognize as being from a Discworld book. Please leave her alone, okay? Yeesh. She also does not own the lyrics to Snakes on a Plane (Bring It), nor is she affiliated with the band that sings it (Cobra Starship). She just thinks it's stinking hilarious.

Author's Note: If you clicked on a Snakes On a Plane/Discworld crossover and expected it to be a deep, meaningful piece of work, then you're an idiot. No one is in character. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, either. I trust you to deal with it.

Summary: I'm tired of this mutha-fuckin' preface to this mutha-fuckin' story! Just read it.

--

They say the Patrician doesn't have balls. That's true, to an extent. Havelock Vetinari was, in fact, the Patrician, and yes, he hated large-scale social gatherings. But every once and awhile _did_ decide to hold a ball or gala or whatever, and this was just such a time. He was especially pleased with it, because it was his _last_ one. His retirement ball.

It was boring of course, but such is life. Vetinari was mingling, which he hated. It was almost his least favorite thing to do, second only to getting shot. He much preferred to sit off to the side and watch other people mingle. It was far more interesting when he wasn't expected to also focus on making small talk.

Thankfully, an angel saved him. Well, maybe not _quite_ an angel but there were several people in the city who would swear that Lady Sybil was as close to an angel as most men could ever get. Sybil swept gracefully into the conversation circle, where Vetinari was secretly cracking up at Lord Selachii and Lord Venturi's hideously stilted conversation. She asked whether she could borrow Vetinari for a moment and before the other two could even begin to think of something non-controversial, Vetinari excused himself and followed Sybil across the room. He saw with some measure of relief that Downey, Rust and Commander Vimes had monopolized a corner. He and Sybil joined them and for a moment, they all stood in silence.

Finally, Downey snorted a little, as if unable to contain himself anymore. "Guess what," he sniggered.

Vetinari looked at him eyebrow raised. "You seem pleased with yourself."

"Oh, I am. Believe it."

"What did you do?" Sybil asked, shaking a finger at the Head of Assassins.

"Not me, per se. Well, okay, it was me but it was awesome." He leaned toward Vetinari, dropping his voice lower. "You should have seen my office this morning."

"Downey, would you go somewhere with this already?" Rust asked, bored.

"Lucky, there were no less than twelve people in my office before ten this morning asking, nay demanding that since you are no longer Patrician and therefore influential on the status of the city that your contract be put back on the market," Downey chuckled. "And if I told you who was in that bunch . . ."

"Wait, let me guess," said Vetinari, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Slant was probably first."

"Right on the money."

"And then it was probably, hmm, Lord Venturi, a representative of the Klatchian royal family, Lord Selachii, Lord de Worde, a representative of the dark dwarfs, someone from Muntab gods know why, Chrysophase, Mr. Boggis, er, oh forgot Jesse Clarkson, that mob boss and . . . I dunno, I'm out of the usual suspects."

"Very good," Downey replied, grinning. "The other two were Master Pteppic and that little man-thing, the Corporal."

"Pteppic?" asked Vetinari, bewildered.

"_Corporal Nobbs_?" Vimes hissed. "What the hell is he doing?"

"Yes, both of them," Downey said smugly. "Personally, I think Pteppic asked because he just wants to see if he could have a run at you and as for Corporal Nobbs . . . I'm not sure why he wanted to know. He said he was just asking for Captain Carrot. Anyway, he did say it was good when I told him your contract was permanently in abeyance."

"Ah," said Sybil. "Well, that makes more sense, then."

"Permanently in abeyance? Downey, are you retarded?" Vetinari asked, watching the new Patrician, young Frederick Rust, try desperately to escape his conversation with Mr. Slant.

"What? I thought that was good!"

"Now I'm going to have to deal with hired murderers. They're less entertaining."

"Because they're unpredictable?" asked Downey smugly.

"No, because they have no sense of honor," Vetinari said, smirking as Mrs. Palm rescued the younger Rust. "You can't humiliate them."

"Havelock!" Sybil said, admonishing. "Humiliation is not a form of entertainment."

"Sybil, I had a scorpion pit that I put mimes in. Let's be honest with ourselves, I enjoy humiliating people." He pouted. "And if that's wrong, I don't want to be right."

"You are incorrigible," Rust smirked.

"That's awful," the Commander growled. "They're just mimes!"

"None of them ever _died_, Vimes, honestly," Vetinari scoffed. "I had them taken down after a while. And anyway, the scorpions had all had their stingers removed long ago."

"Really?" Downey asked, surprised. "They were harmless?"

"Absolutely. Disgusting, yes, but totally harmless."

"Wow," Downey said, staring reflectively into his sherry. "I feel as though some of the magic has gone out of the past thirty-five years. Like when I learned there's no such thing as the Blind Beater."

"The what?" asked Vetinari, momentarily distracted from watching Fred Rust stumble his way into the political field.

"The Blind Beater, oh come on, you had to know about him!"

Vetinari, Sybil and the older Rust all indicated that no, they had not.

"My mum told me he was real too," Vimes said, sympathetically. "Kept us in line as kids."

"I can't believe Vimes and I are the only two that have ever heard of him!" Downey exclaimed. "Come _on_! The big shadowy man with no eyes and a buggy whip? If you were a bad kid, he came into your room at night and beat you!"

"Oh my gods," Rust said, mouth agape. "That's a little brutal for small children, isn't it?"

"It kept me in line!" Downey said, apparently shocked that Vimes was the only other person in the vicinity that knew what he was talking about. "And when I found out he was just made-up, well . . . I felt, I don't know, _cheated_ somehow."

"Seriously? I would have rejoiced," smirked the former Patrician. "I just had the dogs. My dad always threatened to throw me to them. Sometimes he told me he would send me to live with my uncle."

"What was so bad about your uncle?" Vimes asked, confused.

"You know how we tell Sam we're going to sell him to the gypsies, dear?" Sybil said gently.

"My relatives are all gypsies," Vetinari finished, much more bluntly.

"Oh." That was all Vimes seemed to be able to say following this revelation.

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen!" Everyone turned to the front of the room, where Rufus Drumknott was standing at a simple podium. "If I may have your attention please . . ."

"Speech time," Vetinari sighed. "Thank the gods I got out of saying anything."

"Remember that time you forgot how to speak Morporkian, you were so nervous?" Downey snorted. "In speech class. It was amazing."

"I had an excuse!" Vetinari hissed, handing his untouched sherry off to the other Assassin. "It's not my first language!"

"It's not?" asked Vimes, utterly bewildered.

"He's from Genua, dear," Sybil said gently. "They speak Genuan there."

"I have to go," Vetinari said. Then, eyes narrowed and smirking mischievously. "What do you think would happen if I was just like, 'Outta my way, bitches.'"

"That would be amazing," gasped Rust, laughing hysterically. "Do it!"

"Nah, I'm technically still in charge. Have to be professional for, like ten more minutes. Then I can get drunk and accidentally shoot someone."

"Do it!"

Sybil scowled. "Now, boys."

"Right," Vetinari smirked. "I will mind my manners for ten more minutes. It'll be hard."

"I'm sure," snickered Downey into his drink. "Don't get assassinated up there, chief. I may not be able to restrain myself."

"Oh yeah, sure," said Vetinari, rolling his eyes. Then he turned, all cold and calculated professionalism, and headed to the front of the room.

If there was another thing Vetinari hated, it was being the center of attention. And standing at the front of the room, on a slightly elevated stage, he was certainly that. On the other side of the podium, young Fred Rust was smiling nervously.

Vetinari realized suddenly, as though he hadn't known it was coming, that this was the last time he'd ever have to do this. The last time he'd ever have to stand at the front of the room and act like he didn't hate all those bastards for wanting to kill him. The last time he'd have to be The Man. And strangely, that was a freeing thought – to finally be able to feel the way he wanted to feel, act the way he wanted to act, no excuses. He smiled coolly and looked out over the rows of people glaring up at him.

_That's it! I've had it with these mutha-fuckin' snakes on this mutha-fuckin' plane!_

Of course, he couldn't go crazy or anything. He would have to retain some vestiges of sanity and dignity. But still, he would be able to lord it over everyone that hey, I was your boss and you never killed me so nyah.

Drumknott started speaking. Vetinari just stood there and smirked.

_Times are strange_

_We've got a free upgrade_

_For snakes on a plane_

Of course, right now they were all ecstatic to see him going, and thrilled that Rust was going into office. He was doing exactly the job Vetinari had hoped he would do – give the impression of being an easily manipulatable young man. Vetinari knew that wasn't true, but for now he was more than happy to let them all think that. It would make the whole transition easier.

In the audience, Mr. Slant was smirking at him with some kind of smug zombie expression. Like he knew something Vetinari didn't. Well, that wasn't true. Vetinari knew full well that Slant was looking into hiring murderers that would do "the job" for him, regardless of their rates. He'd received a report on it two days ago.

_Fuck 'em, I don't care_

_Pop the cheap champagne, _

_We're going down in flames_

_Yeah_

According to the report, the murderer he'd hired was a young Assassin's Guild dropout named William Matacara. He was a dropout not because of lack of skills, but rather because he didn't like the idea of the Guild middleman. Young William thought the world would be a better place if his clients simply talked directly to him. Thus, he left, and started his own unofficial business. He charged exorbitant rates and got results, albeit somewhat unconventionally. Vetinari had been watching his career with some degree of passive interest and had to admit, the young man was creative.

Of course, he also knew the details of Mr. Slant's contract with William. Such as time, place and price. Vetinari had to admit, he'd been impressed. The boy had done his research, certainly. The tragic thing about research it that it leaves a paper trail. Shame, really.

_Oh, I'm ready for it – Come on, bring it!_

Drumknott was still going, all about the prosperous times in Ankh-Morpork and how no doubt they would continue under Lord Rust's careful management. Of course they would. Everyone knew they would. And all the old families hated Vetinari because he'd made these prosperous times available to _everyone_, not just the rich.

Lord Venturi glared up at Vetinari, mistakenly thinking the former Patrician wasn't paying attention. While he hated Vetinari with a passion, he would never think to hire a murderer. It was so . . . tasteless. Though he had hired Assassins more enthusiastically than anyone else before Vetinari's contract had been put in abeyance.

'Ah, well,' thought Vetinari. 'Too bad I'm going to get out of all this with only a few near misses. Poor Venturi is disappointed again.' Then he smirked internally. 'This has to be some kind of record. I wonder how many rulers of this damn city made it this long without dying or quitting.'

_So kiss me goodbye_

_Honey I'm gonna make it out alive_

_So kiss me goodbye_

_I can see the venom in their eyes_

There was polite applause, startling Vetinari out of his train of thought. Drumknott had apparently finished. The young man shook the somewhat dazed Vetinari's hand.

"Sir, it has been a pleasure working with you," he said quietly.

"Likewise," responded Vetinari. "Just keep Rust on track, will you? And watch your pencils." Drumknott smiled a little and bowed himself offstage.

Next up was Rosie Palm. Vetinari had asked her to do a special little speech, which she was only to eager to do. She was smart, and had been somewhat educated by Vetinari's own aunt, the somewhat eccentric Madam Roberta Mesrole. Both of them were looking at the world through the same telescope, metaphorically speaking, but Vetinari was better trained as to what he was looking for. That was why they get along so well and why both of them knew the only reason she had been asked to speak over Downey was because it would anger, oh, say, half the upper class. Which was smashing.

Vetinari looked out over the crowd once more, not really focusing on any one person. His gaze settled on Lords Downey and Rust who were standing in the back, making ridiculous faces. Vetinari quickly looked away, trying not to laugh out loud. He focused instead on a cluster of people standing together in the middle of the room. They were the Klatchian and Muntabi representatives, and they didn't look happy. The Klatchian man flashed a thin, gold-toothed smile, which was rather more like a snarl. Then he turned to his associate, who was boredly fiddling with his numerous thick gold rings.

Over-dressed in finely tailored suits, Vetinari really didn't like them at all. They wore clothing like it was, oh, a _status symbol_. Which it always is, to some extent, but never so blatantly as the representatives thought it ought to be. Vetinari himself always preferred simple black linen robes. His shoes were where he chose to display his standing, if anyone cared to look: slick-looking black Quirmian leather with black snakeskin trim. Vetinari was a shoe man.

The representatives had lost interest and were simply toying with their jewelry, gaudy clothing and awful sherry glasses. But something was happening in the audience. Vetinari's eyes narrowed, on alert for an assassination attempt he may have missed out on. But no, it was just all the present Seamstresses dipping into deep curtsies. He flashed a lightening-quick smile, equally grateful to them. Vetinari knew damn well he would have been out of office five times over if not for them.

As Rosie concluded and Rust prepared to take the podium, the Muntabi representative lit up a cigar and smiled straight at Vetinari, blowing smoke out of his nose. Vetinari betrayed no emotion. After all, he was paying attention, to Rust wasn't he? Of course he was.

_Its time to fly_

_Tonight the sky's alive_

_With lizards serpentine_

_Lounging in their suits and ties_

_Watch the whores parade, for the price of fame_

Rust took the podium and Vetinari actually paid attention now. He talked about how grateful he was to the previous administration. He talked about his plans for the new administration. He talked about how he would listen faithfully to the city council, and here Vetinari allowed himself a smirk. They would _love_ that, certainly. They knew damn well Vetinari had never paid the slightest attention to them.

'Of course they love him,' thought Vetinari. 'All animals love fresh meat. Too bad he's not stupid meat.'

_So kiss me goodbye_

_Honey I'm gonna make it out alive_

_So kiss me goodbye_

_I can see the venom in their eyes_

And then the speeches were over. The ceremony was done. It had all taken under an hour and a half, which was shockingly brief for that sort of thing. People immediately swamped the stage, swamping Rust and congratulating him. Vetinari slipped through the crowd, occasionally being told he hadn't been all that bad, really, and thanks for the thirty-five years of minimal beheading. Finally he managed to slip to the back of the room where Rust, Downey and Sybil were waiting for him. Vetinari had watched Vimes leave halfway through the ceremony – Carrot had very conveniently showed up and the two of them had left quietly.

"So, how does it feel to be free?" asked Downey, handing Vetinari a beer.

"Same, really," he responded. "Honestly, I've been coasting for the past three weeks. It's a relief to not have to wake up and pretend I still want to work."

"Well, hopefully you'll wake up," Sybil said nervously. "There were some very suspicious looking gentlemen here tonight,"

"I know," Vetinari said with a shrug. "I'm not out of the woods yet, but who cares? Most of them won't stoop to hiring a murderer, so while they may want me dead, they're not really going to do anything about it. You know how it goes."

"Tell you what," said Downey, gesturing with his drink, "I will set your minimum contract price at a billion dollars. Someone offers that for you, I'm taking it."

"I thought I was in abeyance," Vetinari chuckled.

"A _billion_ dollars? Be honest, man."

"You'd let your own friend die for a billion dollars?"

"I would let you die for a billion dollars," said Rust, swilling his sherry.

"Ronald!" Sybil looked horrified. "People don't have a price, you know! I've always disagreed with that . . ."

"It's an unfortunate part of our economy," Vetinari said. "And anyway, the Guild does actually cut down on murder rates enormously."

"But murderers exist," Downey said. "Discount assassins. How many do you think will be calling on you, Lucky?"

_Ladies and Gentlemen,_

_Snakes is slitherin'_

_With dollar signs in their eyes_

_And tongues so reptilian_

_This industry's venomous_

_With cold-blooded sentiment_

_No need for nervousness,_

_It's just a little turbulence _

"Four, maximum," Vetinari responded instantly. Then he checked his watch. "Speaking of which . . . I do believe I have to leave my own party early. Get everything unpacked at my old house and all."

"Just like you," Downey smirked. "You have very little tolerance for balls."

"Shut up, you never have them either."

"Take care, Havelock." Sybil laid a hand on his shoulder. "If you need anything at all, we're only across the street."

"I'll remember that when I need a cup of sugar," smirked Vetinari. "See you all around."

He slipped out the back door, instantly becoming invisible. Sybil watched him go with a frown.

_So kiss me goodbye_

_Honey I'm gonna make it out alive_

_So kiss me goodbye_

_I can see the venom in their eyes_

Vetinari decided he was going to enjoy his last coach ride in the official coach. And, of course, he needed to get all his possessions out of their little hidey-holes. Smiling quietly to himself he started undoing latches that the casual observer would never have noticed.

Various objects were produced. Most of them were of a sharp, metallic nature. Some were even wooden and spring-loaded. All of them were attached to some sort of holster or belt. Vetinari strapped all of them on, looking more and more like a deranged hit man by the minute. He hummed tunelessly to himself as he did so.

_So kiss me goodbye_

_Honey I'm gonna make it out alive_

_So kiss me goodbye_

_I can see the venom in their eyes_

_Goodbye_

The coach pulled up outside the old house and the coachman began wordlessly carrying the lone trunk up to the front door. Vetinari jumped out of the coach, jangling a little.

"Don't go in," Vetinari cautioned. The coach driver turned and his eyes widened when he saw the recently recovered armory. The trunk fell with a dull thud. Vetinari flashed a lightening fast smile. "I'm anticipating a bit of a complication."

_Oh, I'm ready for it – Come on bring it._

With hardly a 'yes, sir,' the coach driver hastily grabbed Vetinari's offered fifty dollar bonus and beat it down the walkway to the coach. The former Patrician smirked and lazily walked up to his front door, weapons swinging on his hips. When he reached the doorstep he pulled a small crossbow from a holster. It had two bolts and two triggers – a somewhat clumsy weapon but very, very effective and respectably easy to handle. It was Vetinari's favorite.

Crossbow in hand, Vetinari unlocked the door. Cautiously, he pushed it open. It swung inwards, catching on the old floorboards. Dust lay thick on the floor, undisturbed except for that time a few years ago the younger Rust had stayed there.

_We seem to be losing altitude at an alarming pace . . ._

_From mid-town to downtown_

_Snakes on the block_

The cobra cut through the darkness and directly toward Vetinari. It lunged at his boot, fangs bared, when a crossbow bolt went straight through the base of its skull and into the floor. It writhed a little, pinned in the dust, and died.

"Creative, but not totally unexpected," Vetinari said, addressing the darkness. Then from a pocket in his coat, he pulled a match. It flared to life, revealing a young man hanging upside down from the ankles in the foyer. "Hello, William."

"This is cheating and you know it!" William screamed, apparently not bothered by the fact that Vetinari knew exactly who he was.

"There is no cheating in the world of murderers," said Vetinari, eyeing his crossbow. Then, smiling, he leveled it at the young man. "There's no murder, either. Only self-defense."

_I suggest you grab your ankles, and kiss your ass goodbye._

END

Hey you guys? I have a sequel to Diplomatic Piracy in the works now. Review and maybe you'll see it.


End file.
